Hot Damn(7)

I consider the sounds my childhood cat used to make in the process of harking a hair ball into my dress shoes. “Yes, I’d say so.”

“Then no, no unusual vomiting.”

“Diarrhea?”

He makes a face. “How am I supposed to know that?”

“You look in his litter pan.” This guy knows nothing about cats. Why does he have one? “Sometimes you have to move the litter around to see what his poo looks like.”

Jesse makes the kind of face you’d expect someone to make when you tell them they need to play in cat poo. “Seriously?”

It causes me almost literal physical pain to maintain a straight face. “Seriously. Have you seen anything unusual in his litter pan?”

“No.”

“So he seems healthy, overall?”

“As far as I can tell.” His tone is worried now, like he’s afraid maybe he missed something. Fireman Jesse King seems to be totally out of his depth. It’s so different from the overconfident, bossy man he was last night that I can’t help but warm to him a little. At the same time, I feel sorry for him.

“You don’t really seem like a cat person,” I offer. That’s the understatement of the century. “How long have you had him?”

“Two weeks.” He frowns. “And you’re right. I’ve never had a cat before. I…inherited him.”

“Inherited?” That sounds like an intriguing story.

“Yeah.” Apparently he’s not going to tell that story, though, because next he says, “He’s just… He’s psychotic. Tears things up. Breaks things.” Jesse lowers his voice, his eyes wide like he’s talking about a demon that lives in his house. “He attacks me when I walk in the door. I’ve got scars—”

He breaks off as Dr. Raczek comes in. As usual, she looks calm and perfectly put together, even after a full day in the office. This is a woman who would sort through your cat’s poop without blinking an eye. “Well,” she says, reaching for the carrier. “What have we here?”

She opens the front of the carrier. Jesse literally takes a step back, something like real terror in his eyes. I swallow hard to keep from laughing. It’s a valiant effort, but it doesn’t work, and I have to cough to cover it up.

“I wouldn’t—” Jesse starts, but then stops as Dr. Raczek reaches right into the carrier.

The cat—Thor—meows a couple of times as the doctor extracts him. He seems perfectly calm now, pupils big and round, ears up, claws sheathed. He’s huge—probably one of the biggest Maine Coons I’ve ever seen, but some of that could be due to the incredibly fluffy gray fur. He looks like he hasn’t been brushed in a while. Considering Jesse’s problems just getting him into the carrier, I’m not surprised.

“You need some grooming, there, don’t you, big guy?” Dr. Raczek croons to him. Jesse just stares, wide-eyed, as if the doctor is performing some sort of sorcery. “What’s his name?”

“Thor,” Jesse says. “He’s… Wow, he doesn’t act like that with me.”

Dr. Raczek chuckles. “I’m sure there’s a reason he’s acting out. Let’s see if we can get to the bottom of things.”

She settles Thor on the exam table and pets him while she goes through a list of questions, many of them the same ones I already asked. Jesse answers them all again, still staring like he can’t believe what the cat’s doing. Or not doing, as the case may be. Dr. Raczek nods sagely, stroking Thor’s head. Thor starts to purr. It’s so loud I can hear it across the room.

“What’s that sound?” Jesse asks anxiously.

“He’s purring.” Dr. Raczek scratches between Thor’s ears. “He likes this.”

“I’ve never heard that before.” The distress in his voice is palpable, like Thor’s affection for the vet is a personal affront. “Of course, he barely lets me touch him, much less scratch his head.”

Wow. He’s had the cat two weeks and he’s never heard it purr? That’s kind of sad.

The doctor nods again. “Well, Mr. King, we’re going to see what we can do to change that. I’m going to take a blood sample and run some tests to be sure, but I think your cat is perfectly healthy. I think he just needs some behavior modification.”

“Behavior modification?”

“Yes. Cats often act out when they feel insecure, or when their environment has changed. It sounds like both of these might be the case here. I’d suggest you talk to a cat behaviorist and put together a plan of action to help the cat adjust and feel safer in his new environment. Have you seen any of those TV shows about animal training? It’s a bit like that. The behaviorist will evaluate the animal and the environment, find out what Thor’s triggers are, and see what can be done to modify his behavior. The results are often quite good.”

Jesse is quiet for a moment, a look of incredulity on his face. “So…Thor needs a therapist? Cats have therapists? Is that what the world has come to these days?” His tone turns mocking. “How does that even work? Does he have to lie on a couch, because that’ll last about five minutes before he shreds it.”

So much for warming to him. His attitude is starting to get on my nerves. I wonder why he has the cat at all—why would someone bequeath a cat to a guy who has no idea how to take care of it? And worse, who doesn’t appear to even like the poor critter?

Dr. Raczek laughs, apparently unoffended. She’s as good with people as she is with animals, which is one of the reasons I really like working for her.

“No, there’s no couch, as a general rule. It’s not really therapy like with humans,” she explains, “although sometimes an animal’s behaviors do have something to do with past traumas or even present discomfort. I’m going to refer you to somebody who can look at behavioral modification. In fact…” Here, her gaze slides toward me, and I know what’s coming. “Madison here has been working with me to learn about exactly what we’re discussing. She’s helped several of our clients work through difficulties with their animals, particularly rescue animals and pets who’ve had to change to new homes.”

She fishes in the breast pocket of her lab coat and hands over a business card. Good grief, she carries my business cards with her? I stare, taken aback as she passes the card to Jesse.

“Here you go.” Dr. Raczek winks at me. “There’s her contact information. You two should chat, and maybe you can get Thor sorted out.”

At this point she heads toward the door, cat cradled in her arms, to take him back for his blood test. Thor is still purring. Jesse is looking at my card and appears to be about as dumbfounded as I am.

“I’ll give you a call,” the doctor says, “if I find anything alarming in the blood sample. But I think the behavior work is what you’re going to need.”

The door clicks shut, leaving Jesse and me in a strange silence. Finally he looks up at me with a twinkle in his eyes. “So. You’re a cat therapist?”

“Behaviorist,” I correct him, cheeks going hot again. “And I’m not certified yet—I’m training. But at this point I’ve had quite a bit of real-world experience, thanks to Dr. Raczek.” I stop there, holding back an urge to overexplain the situation. Animal behaviorists tend to have doctorate degrees, but I work with people’s pets on a semi-formal basis based on training I’ve gotten on the job and my own independent studies. I’ve always been good with animals, and it’s serving me pretty well so far.

The corner of his mouth quirks up, and I brace myself for some kind of smart-ass comment. He doesn’t disappoint.

“I guess a job is a job. Talking to cats all day can’t be too hard, right?”

That sends my hackles up. “Look.” It’s all I can do to keep from wagging my finger in his face. At least I’ve got more than just a towel on this time, so I don’t have to worry about flashing him while I give him what for. “I’m a single mom. Just because I don’t save people’s lives and drag naked girls out of non-burning buildings doesn’t mean what I do isn’t important. Helping people with their animals brings in some extra money and even helps them keep their pets instead of taking them to a shelter. There’s no shame in that.”

He grins. It’s a smug look. I know I shouldn’t have risen to his bait, but I did it anyway. “I didn’t say there was. No need to get all defensive.”

“You implied it.”

“How?”

“With your face.” That sounds ridiculous coming out of my mouth, but it’s the truth. His expression held a world of commentary.

Jesse laughs. “How do you imply something with your face?”

I shake my head. This guy is a piece of work. “You just do.”

“Hmm. I guess I have skills, too.”

I cross my arms over my chest. I’ve had enough. “Well, whatever you think of me, it doesn’t really matter, because I’m not going to work with your cat.”

“Wait, what?”

“I’m not going to work with your cat.”

“But the doctor just said you could help me out.” He looks genuinely put out, but I’m not going to bend on this one.